2 cuts in a week, I bet you think that’s pretty clever

Thanks to the blogging fairies, I was given 2 last minute press passes to Outside Lands. Get out! Really? Oh my god! Radiohead! All I wanted was to see Radiohead. Normally, this type of excitement is reserved for New Kids on the Block or similar, as I’ve spent a lifetime worshiping those talented Bostonians. But having dated and subsequently been dumped by the world’s biggest Radiohead fan, I’d not only become a fan myself, but now I had two press passes.

Like, from a publicist.

How ya like me now?

I couldn’t come up with anyone that would be as thrilled as me with going. These passes were too good to waste on some friend who’d be blase through the whole event and roll their eyes when I cried at “High and Dry.”

Wait a second. Hold on one goddamn second. Who’s the greatest person on Earth who just happens to love live music?

My brother!

I called Alex up. “Got plans tonight?”

“Not really. I was going to meet some friends for drinks after work. Why?”

“I got two passes to Outside Lands.”

“I have the greatest sister in the world!!!”

Alex lives in the Richmond, but way over on the Golden Gate Bridge side, about 30 blocks from the festivities. Turns out, a bunch of his pals were going anyway, so we all cabbed it over, having to say goodbye to Alex’s cronies and go stand in line.

Ugh, the lines.

To our delight, the press line is WAY shorter than any other line! Sweet. Instead of tickets, we got these little green wristbands that said “Media ’08” and proudly headed into Polo Fields. I had this big plan that we’d sit on the grass, sipping wine and singing while congratulating ourselves on our free entry into this very expensive festival.

Mais non. The park was overflowing with hippies, hipsters and overly dressed wealthy 30-somethings sporting the standard North Face fleece. The great thing about my brother is that once we realized it’d be impossible to find his friends, he was perfectly happy being stuck with his boring older sister, who was hell bent on finding some cocktails. We made our way over to the Sutro Stage, following the hordes of folks desperate to see Beck. Beck was on from 6:40-7:45 or similar, so we planned to be right on time for Radiohead on the Main Stage at 8.

Alex and I took one look at the massive lines for food and booze and realized it was probably wise to split up, my brother standing in the hamburger line and me stuck with the winos.

Another great thing about my brother? He’s 6’5″ and thus, easy to spot. Alex was just standing there with a big smile on his face, making new friends. I, on the other hand, was surrounded by my own version of hell. In front of me was “Trevor” (I’m changing his name because he lied to his boss about taking the weekend off), who was shirtless and covered in elaborate tattoos and what appeared to be scars from his angst-ridden self-mutilation days. Trevor could not have been more delighted to be at Outside Lands and as he is generally friendly to all of God’s creatures, we became fast friends.

In front of Trevor bounced some chick and her boyfriend. The chick can best be described thusly: You know that woman at work that’s really nerdy but thinks being really nerdy is really awesome so she shoves her nerdiness in your face all the time? Yeah, her. She was wearing unattractive prescription glasses and a “Sexy Geek” fitted t-shirt. She was hopped up on life and was literally bouncing up and down, her good mood unable to crack my steely exterior.

She actually wanted us to start a wave.

Then she wanted all of us to jump up and down in unison.

The worst part was that Trevor was all over this idea. Trevor’s probably all over every idea. I could’ve said, “Hey Trevor, let’s go shoot some heroin and rob a convenience store and Trevor’d be all, “Yes! I’m in.”

So Sexy Geek and Trevor are alternately doing the wave and jumping up and down in unison and I’m the bitch who refused to participate. Because I was standing there unescorted, they clearly felt compelled to include me in their little crack baby group and while there was no way in hell I was doing some type of mass dance move, I was just happy for people to talk to.

At this point, it’s important to note that Beck appeared on stage. The food and booze lines were essentially in the middle of the crowd, so the show was not missed whilst waiting in line. Not that I cared as Beck doesn’t really do it for me.

Sexy Geek, needless to say, went ballistic.

A creepy looking artsy dude with a gigantic backpack approached Trevor and inquired as to Trevor’s interest in purchasing some snacks. Trevor had difficulty deciding while I felt mild disappointment not to be offered any snacks myself. I could be 420 friendly.

“Yes or no, dude?”

Pot Brownie guy wasn’t exactly focused on the customer experience and got bored with Trevor’s indecisiveness at spending $10 on a friggin’ cookie.

Trevor just smiled. “I’m saving my joint for Radiohead anyway.”

I looked over at my brother, still standing there bobbing his head to the music and laughing at one of his less-crazy neighbor’s jokes. These lines, folks, were not moving, particularly the booze line. But eventually, Alex appeared to be nearing the burger counter. As the wine line inched closer, Trevor and I noticed a shocking and unacceptable trend.

Cutters.

I’m not talking emo-cutters providing themselves with physical pain to drown out their emotional pain. Oh no. I’m talking about LINE CUTTERS!

The closer we got to the counter, still a mere speck in the crowded distance, the more people pushed forward, a few little steps at a time. My one person place in line had become a 2 person place in line, then a 3 and 4 person place in line.

Trevor was noticing this disturbing act as well, particularly a tiny blond vixen in her velour sweatsuit and JLo glasses. Formerly 4 or 5 people behind, she was now chatting in the middle of Trevor in me, as if we’d asked her to join us.

“You better watch out for that one.” Trevor whispered.

Alex soon appeared carrying two huge cheeseburgers. Sweatsuit looked to the skies to see us. “Oh, burgers. You’re smart. I shoulda made my man do that too.” And with that, she took a step forward to begin her fake conversation with Sexy Geek.

Two young women who, I think it’s safe to say, own the entire Sex and the City DVD collection AND saw the movie 4 times in the theater, were inching past me as well. I was hoping Alex would step in and masterfully secure our rightful place in the world, but he had a burger and Beck.

I gave half of my burger to Trevor (“Why thank you, Beth. You’ve saved me time and money!) and attempted to maintain my place if not in front of, at least equal to Sex and the City.

Moving into the SECOND HOUR of standing in this line (I’m dead serious), I was able to count the people who’d cut us.

7.

Because at this point, I seemed to be the only one maintaining the integrity of the line. What was once 5 specific and defined queues of concert goers had now become a sea of people slowly moving forward with NO REGARD for those of us, and I can’t say this enough, maintaining the integrity of the line.

One of the Sex and the City hos caught me glaring at her as she was now two people in front of me.

“What?” Her tone revealed her false confidence.

Oh, you wanna dance, Forever 21? Bring it.

“I’m just wondering how I can get in the line you’re in. It seems to be going so much faster than my line, which I’ve been in for WELL over an hour.”

And then she said it. “I don’t think there really is a line.”

It was 7:30 on a Friday and wine had yet to pass my lips. I lost it.

“Oh, silly me. Maybe the next time I’m in Safeway, I’ll just push my way to the front and start dumping my groceries on the scanner. You don’t think there’s a line? Are you insane? Do you actually think that’s an acceptable response? You don’t think there really is a line. Well, that’s amazing. What an amazing, anarchist world you must live in.”

My brother was oblivious, but having earlier fed Trevor, I also had an ally. Trevor and I stood there and loudly thought of all the places it’d be really nice to regard all existing lines as personally non-applicable.

Sex and the City hos just stared off into the distance, pretending to ignore what Trevor and I now found hilarious.

By this time, we could see the beer and wine counter, serviced by two exhausted bar keeps. Obviously, what was once two lines had become 7 or 8 impatient people demanding beer all at once and front and center was JLo glasses.

Trevor’d had it. “I seriously want to stab that little bitch.” He started making gestures unfit for this even this ridiculous blog and while I’ll always hold a soft spot for my hours in line with Trevor, I was looking forward to getting on with my life.

The scariest part of this whole process was watching people finally procure their beverages and then try and safely maneuver the crowds to alcoholic freedom. The thought of standing in line for so long only to spill your wildly over-priced drink terrified us all yet offered a potential for justice if I was feeling sassy enough. A swift “accidental” bump into JLo glasses might brighten my evening.

Alas, once I saw the Chardonnay at the end of the tunnel, I grabbed two $20’s and slammed them down on the wet counter, elbowing elderly and disabled people if it meant getting my booze 10 seconds faster.

We’d discovered that instead of 2 dixie cups of wine, you could request one big beer cup of wine. “I need 2 big wines, one red, one white.”

And in 20 seconds, my 90 minute ordeal had come to an end.

Alex and I gently pushed our way out of there, noticing that at some point, Beck had finished his set. We found ourselves in a big empty park, the scragglers still making their way over to Radiohead which was about to start at any minute.

But it was smooth sailing from that point on. Alex and I found space in the middle of the masses, sipping our wine and standing on tippy toes to try and see anything. And while the sound conked out twice, we really didn’t care. The sky turned dark, I may have gotten a contact high and my brother was with me. He threw an arm over my shoulder.

“Are you going to get all emotional and sing?”

“Only during High and Dry.”

Turns out, those f*$#ers didn’t even play “High and Dry”, so I remained both. We decided to beat the crowds and split early. On the long, foggy walk back home with my brother, we could hear “Fake Plastic Trees” in the distance and thus stopped in the middle of a deserted street to listen. Which is when we had a profound realization.

“God, we could’ve just sat on someone’s roof.”

“Yeah. And had more than one glass of wine!”

Beth Spotswood describes herself as “The 30-year-old equivalent of Dorothy from The Golden Girls.” She spends her free time pretending not to stare at crazy people screaming on San Francisco’s sidewalks. Originally from Marin, Beth now lives in the Mission and doesn’t get why people are so into burritos. You can find Beth here every Wednesday at noon, and at I’ll Flip You. Flip You For Real, where “The opinions expressed are ridiculous and in no way reflect anything of value. Do not take them seriously…”